Day 262

I have spent this entire day fighting myself. Nobody won the fight, it's still going on and I can't even tell you what it is about. It's just a fight, you know one of those disagreements that you can't even remember how it started. That's my day.



Writing about grief from this side is much more difficult than writing about the dying. Writing about one's feelings wrestling with the idea that someone who has always been there, always, she was the one who I formed within, is very difficult, because those feelings are not concrete and they are not constant, they rush through you like an early spring stream.



Trying to grab hold of the feeling separate from the memories is impossible. At the moment I have great memories of my Mom. I'm not remembering her though, I remember Dad.

Today an old friend responded with a memory, a memory of her mother singing Summertime and it came back to me like a flood and my father was accompanying her on the piano. This memory, in its beauty and strength brings with it horrible memories equally as strong.

I then bring up memories of my close friend, Cynthia. I have only wonderful memories of her, even of her dying, those memories connect me to a larger world a larger sphere. But all of it reminds me of those all gone and only memories.



Now don't get me wrong, I'm not alone. I have such positive experiences daily, whether they are eating lunch with a good friend at the coop or watching children laugh outside my house or eating reheated Chinese food in my yard. Thus, the argument. I am overwhelmed and vulnerable, but I am feeling incredibly lucky and blessed, too.

Oh life..............